


Mine

by VesperNexus



Category: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold - John Le Carré
Genre: Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperNexus/pseuds/VesperNexus
Summary: “I will be gentle, Mister Leamas. I promise.”The tears could not be faked. Fiedler reached out slowly, his delicate fingers brushing the wetness from beneath Leamas’ eye.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FalliciousPuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/gifts).



> happy birthday m8

“Have a seat.”

“Fiedler,” the anger in Leamas’ voice was intoxicating. Fiedler leant back in his chair, the creak painfully audible in the silent room.

“Yes, Mister Leamas?”

His reply was all too innocent, and it made the blood rise to the other man’s cheeks. Fiedler watched the angry swallow bulge his throat, the slightest sliver of white teeth visible through his sneer.

“Stop.” Leamas loomed on the other side of the desk, palms flat on the timber. In the dark, he should have made quite the menacing figure. Fiedler smiled.

It was the barest twitch of his lips. Lips so red they may have been wet with blood. It was enough.

“ _Stop_ ,” Leamas repeated, “It won’t work on me. It won’t _work_.”

Fiedler crossed his legs, perching two thin hands on his knee. “I swear I will be gentle, Mister Leamas.”

The Englishman shook his head, disgust painting his features. He stepped back from the desk, into the waning moonlight spilling across the old rug. It painted him silver, whitening his features. He would have been quite handsome if not for the sneer, Fiedler thought.

“You’re wretched, Fiedler. I don’t want you in my head ever again.”

He tilted his head. On the opposite wall, the ticking clock became louder, eating up the stale silence, breeding a frightening tension between them.

“But we had such a _wonderful_ time, Mister Leamas.”

Leamas looked ready to pounce, hands printing blues and purples along the white lines of Fiedler’s throat. But he didn’t, and that answered Fiedler’s question well enough.

“Have a seat, Mister Leamas.” No response. Fiedler conceded. “It will not be as comfortable should you choose to remain standing.”

“Fuck you.”

The German’s hollow laugh rung like bell. “I’m sure you would like to, Mister Leamas, but at this point in time-”

“Oh for fuck’s _sake_ ,” Leamas threw his hands up. Desperation began to colour his words. _You cannot resist me._ “I said I’d cooperate. You don’t need to go poking around in there again.” _Please_ went unsaid.

How thrilling, Fiedler thought. When he pushed and pushed, the fury simply turned into desperation. And if he pushed a little more, he knew it would turn into fear.

He forced his heart to settle, his voice a touch more breathless as he spoke. “Alec.”

The man shook his head aggressively, backing up. Fiedler had not yet moved, and the storm of emotions pulsing through Leamas began to rage. “No. _No._ ”

He stood. Swiftly, elegantly, not a crinkle in his dark suit. One step, two steps, around the table. Leamas was already at the door, the knob crying out metallically as he turned and turned it with futility. It would not give.

Fiedler was a predator. Leamas’ forehead hit the wood in defeat, a sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin. Soon, he would tire of playing the same game every single time.

Fiedler watched the gentle slump of those broad shoulders, the fall of a calloused hand.

“Alright.” The man sounded so tired. He turned, back against the door. Fiedler was less than a metre away. “Alright.”

“Will you not have a seat?”

Leamas looked away. Fiedler tried and failed to smother his excitement.

“I will be gentle, Mister Leamas. I promise.”

The tears could not be faked. Fiedler reached out slowly, his delicate fingers brushing the wetness from beneath Leamas’ eye.

“Take a deep breath, Mister Leamas.” He felt the air flow through Leamas’ windpipe, filling his lungs, and then pried back out from between his lips. _Deep breath._

Leamas closed his eyes. Fiedler took a step closer, hand firm on his cheek, thumb brushing over a grey temple.

And then he _prodded._

Leamas gasped like a drowning man begging for fresh air. His hands fisted so tightly they became white, head snapping back against the wood with a crack.

“ _Oh_ ,” it was invigorating. Everything that Leamas _was_ washed over him, bathed him. He was simply intoxicating. A bright spurt of colour – white and grey and _red-red-red-_

Fiedler shackled their minds together. It was magnificent inside Leamas’ head.

He closed his eyes. Strings danced behind his eyelids, knotted threads that needed to be undone, loose threads that needed to be retied. And so, he began, ever so gently, like a puppeteer preparing his prize puppet for the show.

It felt quick. Fiedler was pressed right up against that hard chest, his grip never weakening. He could feel his lips move against the collar of Leamas’ shirt, but no words came. Not aloud.

_Breathe, Mister Leamas._

He quieted the rebellion, easing it, easing it until it became compliance.

_Breathe._

The defiance was gently swept away. Fiedler’s heart rocked his chest loudly as he whispered sweet nothings into Leamas’ mind.

_I have you, Mister Leamas._

And slowly, the anger-fear-desperation was smothered beneath a delightfully crafted veil. To cover and protect and hide. He blanketed the other man with it until Leamas slumped right into him.

Fiedler opened his eyes. Leamas was blinking owlishly at him.

“Are you done?”

“Almost, Mister Leamas.” Fiedler was holding him up at this point. “Just answer a few questions for me, won’t you?”

 _No._ “Okay.”

“Where is George Smiley?”

The unwillingness lit up like a loose spark. Fiedler hurried to suffocate it.

“No.” Leamas was still determined to be difficult. Fiedler tilted his chin, softened his eyes, parted his lips. “Not that.”

“Oh _Alec,”_ Leamas swallowed painfully. He could not look away. “Won’t you answer me this?”

“…No.”

His other hand delicately curled beneath Leamas’ chin, fingernails gently scratching into his five o’clock shadow. He repeated, “Won’t you answer me this?”

“N-N- _please don’t make me._ ”

_Oh, Mister Leamas._

“For me, Alec.”

“Please.” _Too easy._ “He’s staying with – _please_ Fiedler – not _this_.” The pleasant veil was beginning to float too loosely, and the fear and desperation was beginning to slide beneath the edges. An unwelcome intrusion. Fiedler licked his lips, quickly readjusting it.

“Alec.”

“Bywater Street.”

The tear cascaded right down that smooth plane of skin, right to the strong line of Leamas’ jaw.

The blanket was securely back in place. Fiedler made sure his voice was so terribly soft before he spoke, “London?”

“Y- ye-” the words seemed too painful, so Leamas simply nodded.

“Where on Bywater street, Alec?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Oh,” Fiedler’s smile was finally genuine. _You deserve a treat._ He latched a set of fingers onto Leamas’ free hand and drew it to his waist. He felt nails biting into his skin as Leamas held him.

The older man glanced at where his hand suddenly was, and he couldn’t look away until Fiedler guided those bright eyes back to his face. “Thank you, Alec,” and all the sincerity flowed through into Leamas’ mind. A calming effect.

Leamas simply nodded.

“Is George in London now?”

Another nod.

“Will he be leaving sometime soon?”

A moment. Leamas’ eyes became far away as he thought of an answer. Fiedler waited patiently.

“I don’t think so.” That was not an imperative. Fiedler hid his scowl in the fold of Leamas’ shirt. He needed affirmative answers, not fraying nerves. Fiedler knew that Leamas knew. This was hesitation.

But the veil hadn’t slipped. Leamas must have become a little more acquainted with their sessions than Fiedler initially imagined.

He filed the thought away for later.

Fiedler lifted his chin to rest on Leamas’ shoulder. “You do not think so?”

“I- I’m not sure.”

“Is that truly so, Alec?” He murmured the words prettily into Leamas’ neck. _Do not lie to me, Mister Leamas._

“He’s-” Fiedler thickened the blanket. “He’s not – he’s not planning on leaving.”

_Much better._

The hand at his waist loosened. Fiedler knew that was enough for tonight. He took another moment to strengthen the knots and ease the wrinkles of worry from Leamas’ mind. It would not be long, he was certain, before his job would become more difficult. But for now…

“Thank you.”

He could feel Leamas’ smile. Fiedler gently began to pull out of the other man’s mind, securing the veil as best he could. It should last until morning. He eased the red into a quiet _violet._

Leamas was finally relaxed.

“Thank you, Jens.”

Fiedler stepped away. Leamas’ hand hesitantly fell from his waist, before Fiedler gently pulled it back into his own. Carefully weaving their fingers together, he guided the older man across the room and with a firm touch guided him into a plush chair. Leamas was like a doll, and the compliance thrilled Fiedler terribly. _Oh, what I could do with a man like you, Mister Leamas._

“Rest Alec,” he whispered into the barely lit room. “Rest and I will have more questions for you tomorrow.”

Leamas’ head was already heavy against the back of the chair, lolling. He blinked up sleepily.

“Love you Jens,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Fiedler straightened with a sigh. Given how incessantly he played with Leamas’ mind, it was a given some feelings would go astray, and some would accidently develop into things they were not supposed to be.

He smiled above the sleeping man. Perhaps it was not the most regrettable consequence.


End file.
